


Ryan and The Fountain Pen

by Glowstickia



Category: Paranatural (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, parasona
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2018-11-01 00:25:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10910529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glowstickia/pseuds/Glowstickia
Summary: An old antique store run by a mysterious shop keeper forces Ryan to buy an old fountain pen she doesn't remember picking up. The pen is in good shape, and the ink doesn't smudge on paper. But, after writing with the pen for a few months, strange light purple creatures start fading in and out of her vision. Not to mention one of her classmates seems to know more than what he's letting on.





	1. Penned In

**Author's Note:**

> I've been debating for a long time whether or not I should post this on AO3 and well here we are. I started this story about this time last year and ho boy so much has happened since posting the first chapter on tumblr. I'd like to note that the city this story is located in is not named (yet) and is not Mayview. The characters of the webcomic are not involved with this story what-so-ever. There maybe mentions of some from the Consortium, but otherwise the story just takes place in the same universe.
> 
> Special thanks to OneThreateningAcronym aka Apollosprophet on tumblr for not only helping, but letting me borrow her ocs.

Ryan’s fingers brushed against the keys of a rusting typewriter. The small price tag said $50. As much as she loved old antiques and the look of the outdated writing technology… There was no way she could afford the large sum of money let alone lug the thing back home and hide it from her parents. She turned the price tag down, grimacing. $50 was at least two months worth of chores.

She rubbed the heel of her hand against her temple. Plus the typewriter didn’t even have spell check. Ryan glanced back at the older lady running the cash register near the front. Her lips thinned, catching the owner off guard as she quickly went back to her magazine. Ryan rolled her eyes. Just because she was a teenager didn’t mean she was going to steal.

Ryan sighed as her eyes wandered around the aisles she perused earlier. She saw a lot of cool things, but most of them felt too pricey. Maybe it was the tags they came on, maybe it was because she was broke and probably shouldn’t have spent most of her money buying [milkshakes](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DpjcOzqxu4JQ%26list%3DPLrBD0HT9_JOq2oh8DsR674bP7v17baGOa&t=NTBhNDYwZGFlMTQxOWQ1ZGU2MDUzZmNiMGE4NjRkMWRkZTE4YWI2MCx6R2NzdWJiNg%3D%3D&b=t%3ATD3hP46V6sjlf_XUzdE4gA&p=https%3A%2F%2Fglowstickia.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F144438908232%2Fpenned-in&m=1) down the road…

She rolled her left shoulder and moved down the aisle, about ready to leave, but when she blinked, she was right back at the typewriter. Ryan rubbed her forehead hoping the wave of dizziness would pass.

“Something wrong?”

Ryan jumped, turning to the voice behind her. “Oh.”

The old woman grinned at her. “Finding everything all right?” Her eyes scanned Ryan’s left hand. “You seem attached to that pen.”

Ryan blinked. Pen? What- She held up her hand and sure enough an old fountain pen was in it. "I…don’t remember picking this up?” Ryan swore she saw a glint of knowing in the owner’s eyes, but it quickly went away just as it came.

“Well, do you want it? You came back for it after all.”

“I-er guess?”

The owner placed her hand over Ryan’s. “If you purchase that pen, you have to promise me to take good care of it. When you’ve had the pen for a year…come find me.”

“O-okay.”

“I’ll ring you up then.” She beckoned Ryan to follow her to the front. Once placed behind the register she punched in a couple numbers. It dinged. “That’ll be a dollar.”

Ryan fished around in her pocket and pulled out a crumpled dollar, a paper clip, and a dime. “Uh-”

“That’ll do."She snatched the crumpled money and started to straighten it out with the counter’s edge. "Would you like a bag-”

“Nope!” Ryan blurted out. Her eyes shifting to the door. “I-uh. I have loads of homework to do tonight uh. Thanks for the pen!” She ran out the door before the owner could say another word.

The walk home was uneventful, though with every step, the weight of the owner’s words would not leave her mind. “It’s just an old pen. If she wanted to keep it, she would’ve priced it higher or probably wouldn’t have had it out on the seller floor.” Ryan tried to shove the questions away, but even as she opened her bedroom door and dropped onto her bed, she couldn’t shake the feeling she just made a deal with the devil.

Okay, comparing the older lady to an evil entity that may or may not exist, was a little rude… Ryan pulled the antique fountain pen out of her pocket. She rolled the pen in her hands, pouring over the small details as much as she could. It reminded her of the pens she found in her late grandfather’s desk downstairs. This one wasn’t rusting at the nib, nor did it have small blue butterflies decorating the once thought to be plain black plastic cover. It felt…different in her hands than her grandfather’s pens, but she couldn’t articulate the proper words. She felt drawn to it, but the questions from before came back again.

What was so special about this pen? Why did she pick it up in the first place? She mentally walked through the store, trying to retrace her steps. She couldn’t remember ever seeing the pen while staring at the various knick-knacks littering the store’s shelves.

Ryan tore out a sheet of paper from one of her spiral bound notebooks and adjusted the pen in her hand. Might as well figure out if the pen even worked. She started by drawing spirals on the page. It wasn’t ballpoint like the pack her mother bought for her during the school supply run, but the ink flowed nicely and it didn’t bleed through the cheap lined page or smudge when she pressed the side of her hand against the drying ink. She tried a few more tests before she felt satisfied. It was a quality pen and surprisingly met all of her standards. Few brands ever met 10. She recapped the pen and gently set it on the table.

She’d need a case for it if she was going to use it at school.


	2. The First Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan writes. A story is told. A cat is named after a handheld device.

The soft beige necklace case was starting to wear at the corners. If Ryan hadn’t intervened between her mom and the trashcan, she might have lost her chance at a potential pen case. Ryan rubbed her thumb against the metal casing and picked at the fabric edge as she stared at the chalkboard covered in typography and stick figures. “I am not an artist, only a history teacher.” Ms. P would claim every time she had to draw something in class. That never stopped her from being fancy with her notes though.

Battles, miscommunication, murder, another white guy claiming he did something “rad” and taking credit for something else. That’s what she said the class was about. The last part she always connected it back to Gilderoy Lockheart. “He’s the perfect example.” She’d say, bringing his name up for the fifth time that week and pointing to her poster of him plastered next to a geographical map of Ireland. His teeth sparkled like the silver words on the poster. “Don’t be a Lockheart.” It read like a meme. Miss Spellingwise, an English teacher, gave it to her for her birthday a few years ago.

Ryan sighed, slumping further into her seat. She surveyed the room. Half the class was either fighting sleep or had already succumbed to it. She probably would’ve fallen asleep too if her mother’s words didn’t keep her paranoid and echo in her mind every time she debated on not putting her all into her schoolwork. “Get the grades. Have  better life. Highers your chances at getting into college. More pay.” Ryan internally groaned in attempts to shut her mind mother up.

Ms. P drew another stick figure on the board. It had a sword in its hand. “Joan d’Arc had to disguise herself in order to defend her country.”

“Like Mulan?” some kid across the room asked. Ryan couldn’t remember his name. Maybe it started with a T? Either way she was surprised he was still awake. He was usually the first to fall asleep and be startled by Ms. P dropping books near his feet. Her lips wavered. Ms. P did accidentally drop them on his feet once before. He had to go to the nurse’s office after that, and she was told to never drop textbooks on the floor again. She used whatever trashy novel Spellingwise let her borrow that week and slapped it on desks.

Ms. P hummed. “Similar case under different circumstances.” She tapped the chalk in her hand. “Mulan was a very real and extraordinary woman, however, I am assuming you are talking about the Disney movie. I believe so. Both had to disguise themselves as men in order to do what they needed to.”

Ryan thinned her lips as she opened her case. Ms. P went off on another tangent…again. Ryan shook her head, pulled out the antique pen, and began to write. Any notes on Ms. P tangents were useless. Nearly everyone in the class studied something related to her tangents the for the first exam. It was never on the test.

Ms. P drew a rainbow on the board and started rambling about how each one never had an end point. Ryan flipped her notebook to the back pages, tuning Ms. P out. _Rainbows huh?_ A voice she didn’t recognize whispered. _Why not write something about that?_ The voice gurgled and dripped. _Dorothy and her way to Oz. Leprechauns protecting their gold. Light. Energy._

Ryan blinked and stared at her pen, then at the sudden words on the page. When did she… Ms. P’s voice tuned back to her hearing. “Joan refused to wear dresses, even if it was the only way they would let her out of her cell.”

**_BRING_ **

A chorus of zippers opened and closed on bookbags. Papers shuffled and moved as they were gathered and stuffed into bags. Chairs screeched against the concrete floor as students chattered amongst themselves. Ms. P set down her chalk and quickly wiped the board of her drawings. Ryan hadn’t moved an inch until Ms. P turned and saw her sitting there, unmoving. “Ryan?”

She jumped at her name. Her eyes came back into focus. “Yes, Ms. P?”

“Is everything alright? You seem spooked. Class ended five minutes ago.”

Panic filled Ryan’s body as she quickly cleared her things and stuffed them into her bag. She was going to miss her bus. “Yep. Fine. Bye Ms. P, see you tomorrow.” Ryan was out the door before Ms. P could bring her student’s attention she had dropped a paper.

Ms. P clicked her tongue and picked up the filled lined page off the floor. She scanned the document and frowned. “These aren’t notes.” She hummed, trying to figure out which side was the beginning. No title. It was written front to back? She flipped it again. No. Back to front. Once she sat down at her desk, she began to read. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from her student’s handwriting. It looked smoother than her normal scribbled notes. And the words…

She looked around her. The classroom walls had faded. Smoke of different colors filled the air, bringing her out of her chair and into the clouds. She walked forwards. Her heels clacked on the blending rainbow road. Shouts and echoes of canon fire filled her ears. The war over the rainbow had begun.

Ms. P blinked, hearing the rapid thump of Mr. West, the government teacher, knocking on her desk. “Scarlet, are you alright?”

She hummed, setting the paper down. “Sorry, Henry, I was reading a student’s work. Is Alice still here?”

Mr. West’s thick caterpillar eyebrows furrowed. “Yes. I think she is…why?”

Ms. P stood up and delicately held the paper. “She needs to read this. I need an English teacher to see what beauty this writing is.”

Mr. West opened and closed his mouth as his coworker marched out the door. He brushed his mustache with his thumb. “I guess I’ll use your key later.”

* * *

Ryan dropped her backpack on the floor before flinging herself onto her bed and burying her face into her pillow. She accidentally smacked her nose while being dramatic, but she didn’t care. She stared at blackness as she breathed heavily into her pillow. Her nose was starting to throb. She deserved the pain. A few moments later she rolled over coughing. Breathing through the pillow filter nearly cut out all crisp air supply. Whatever she exhaled, she’d immediately inhaled 20% of it. The other 80% was lost to the cotton fibers.

“Murrph”

Ryan perked up, she knew that sound anywhere. She leaned over her bed. Bright green eyes stared back. “Phone!” The tabby cat chirped in response. Ryan grinned. “Want up?” She patted the spot beside her. Phone tilted her head, and bobbed it. She wanted pets. Ryan sighed, reached down to scratch behind Phone’s ear. Phone rubbed her face against Ryan’s hand. Her fur felt soft against her skin. Phone began to purr. “And she’s on vibrate.”

Phone plopped on her side, still purring. Ryan grunted, trying to reach for Phone. “You butt, if you want pets then come closer.” Phone rolled on her back and paused, watching Ryan’s fingers wiggle. She was still out of reach. Ryan gripped the edge of her bed as she stretched as much as she could without falling off of her bed. Phone gave another purr before swiping at Ryan’s hand. Ryan quickly pulled herself back, keeping her hand out of Phone’s clawing paws. “Play mode activated.” Phone rolled to her feet, realizing her play toy was gone, and started rubbing the scent glands in her cheeks against everything Ryan loved.

When Phone reached Ryan’s star patterned backpack, her back arched and her tail puffed up. She jumped backwards and bolted out of the room. Ryan snorted. “Bye Phone.” She shook her head then frowned. Phone wasn’t the type of cat to be easily spooked. Ryan eyes shifted from the open door to her bag. Something abnormal was going on. What spooked Phone? Ryan didn’t keep any bananas in her bag. The yellow fruit would always smoosh before she reached the bus stop. It was impossible to carry a watermelon in her bag too. So it wasn’t that either. Ryan wracked her brain, trying to think of something other than food that had previously spooked the cat. Her stomach grumbled.

“RYAN,” her mother called from the bottom of the staircase, “I NEED HELP WITH DINNER.”

Ryan rubbed her eyes with her sleeves. The mystery would have to wait. “COMING MOM.” She took one last look at her backpack before running down the stairs and into the kitchen. Her mother was in front of the stove wearing her flour covered maroon apron. The apron read “Don’t ask your neighbor for a meat pie” with the image of a pie replacing the last word. It was something Ryan had gotten her a few Christmases ago with the help of her grandmother. Ryan sniffed the air. The smell of beef, onions, garlic, and tomatoes filled the room.

Her mother turned, eyes puffy red and watering. Ryan wasn’t sure if it was from the onions or if she had been crying. “Oh hey Rye.” She flipped her braid behind her shoulder. “Could you start the crockpot? I won’t be home until late tomorrow.”

Ryan squeezed past her and dug through cabinets before pulling out the crockpot. “Is it gonna be roast beef? Lasagna?”

“Caprese chicken. Once you have the crockpot on the chicken is in the fridge and we’ll go from there.” Her mother pressed the cooking beef with her spatula. The grease sizzled and popped. She moved to the pot and stirred its contents with a wooden spoon. Ryan moved passed her again and opened the fridge. Before Ryan could get in a word, the phone rang. Her mother tapped the spoon against the pot. “Sweetie, I need you to keep an eye on this.” She wiped her hands on her apron and pulled the landline hanging on the wall from the receiver.  “Hello, Orson residents… Yes, this is her mother.”

Ryan froze in place. She was an only child. She couldn’t pin any possible wrong doings on her non-existent siblings. Phone patted in and rubbed her face against her mother’s legs before walking to the kitchen door where her food bowl and water dish were placed. Ryan couldn’t even blame the cat on this one either. Cats couldn’t attend schools.

“She did?” Ryan and her mom exchanged eye contact. Her mother raised her eyebrows and nodded. It had to be good news. “Okay. I’ll tell her. Thank you.” The phone clicked as she put it back on the wall receiver.

Ryan stirred the tomato soup like concoction and glanced at her mother as she washed her hands. “Soooooo who was that?”

“It was your history teacher.” She shook her hands and grabbed the towel decorated with a black rose and half mask. “She mentioned something about you dropping a paper.” Her mother walked up to her and squeezed her shoulders. “Said you had a fantastic story written. I didn’t know you write!”

“I wrote…a story?” Ryan searched her brain. History class… Ms. P rainbow tangent. “Oh I, uh…”

Her mother pulled out a couple potholders and moved the pot. “Don’t be so modest kiddo.” She kissed Ryan’s forehead. “We should celebrate! I could get you some new journals, maybe more pens, oh! I know of some great writing books and this bi-monthly magazine and I could talk to your cousin Lucy, do you remember her? She’s got a contract with this really big publishing company and is working as an editor oh but first we need to figure out what your genre is or maybe-”

“Mom…you’re doing that thing again.”

Her mother blinked. “Oh um…” She itched her nose and returned her attention to the food. “Dinner is almost ready, how’s the chicken coming?”

Ryan sighed, pulling out the bell peppers and cheese from the fridge. “It’s coming and still in highschool.”

“Right, so whenever you’re ready sloppy joes are ready to be eaten.”

Ryan looked behind her. Her mom was mixing her sauce and beef together in another bowl. Ryan rolled her eyes. “Got it Mom.” She pulled out the knife and cutting board and started chopping a green bell pepper. “Can you give me a list of things the chicken needs before I throw it in the crockpot?”

“Oh, uh sure, but you can do that after the joes…sound good?”

Ryan laid down the knife. Two peppers were cut. She picked up the chicken and put it back in the fridge. “Yeah, sure.”

Her mom beamed at her and squeezed her hand. “Love you Rye.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had such writer's block when I first wrote this chapter and the way it broke? I gave Ryan a cat. When in doubt, give them a cat.
> 
> Anywho, I have the next few chapters already written, but I think I'll try to do one a week until I get caught up to the point where I currently am at.
> 
> Have a nice week!


	3. Your Mind Makes It Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be careful what you write. Prying eyes tend to ignore the warning signs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again special thanks to OneThreateningAcronym aka Apollosprophet of tumblr for throwing her ocs into the mix. Who are they? Well, one begins with the letter T...

Ryan spun her plastic fork in the penne pasta. The opaque container had seen better days as thin cracks splintered out along one of the warped corners. She was mildly surprised her mother was able to stick the blue lid on it last night. Laughter and loud conversations filled the cafeteria as her classmates voices echoed off the tiled floor and walls. If it wasn’t for the lines of students waiting for their share of whatever “nutritional” meal the cafeteria was serving that day, Ryan would’ve taken the room for a subway station, or at least what she imagined one to look like. She looked down at her container of food. The white cheese based sauce had lost most of what little flavor her mother put into it. Ryan pulled out a pill box she converted into an “emergency lunch spices” kit and opened SAT. She took a pinch of garlic powder and sprinkled it onto her lunch. Shoving the pillbox back into her lunch bag, she pulled out a baggie of shredded cheese and her fruit snacks.

Ryan sucked on a lemon gummie as she mixed her poor excuse of leftovers. She didn’t know how to cook, only what flavors were palatable and worked well together. Her mother being a cook was…debatable. Leftovers depended on if it was take-out, thrown together last minute, or given the proper amount of attention. Ryan took a bite and shrugged. It would have to do.

“So then I go and tackle the guy right?” the red-haired girl slammed her hands on the table. “He made that sound when his face met with the ground and Trist was just being a fool on the side gawking at my cool moves as I held the guy down and-”

Ryan swallowed as her eyes shifted to the table next to hers. _Tuning in to other people’s conversations is rude._ She frowned at her pasta as if it was judging her. The four plastic prongs dug into the cheese, fishing for another noodle. She was just like her mother. When the free bread came around and she dunked the fluffy edible sponge into the spiced up olive oil, her mother would stir her iced tea no lemon with her straw, intently listening to the conversation behind her. Words were hardly said during meals in restaurants. Words weren’t needed when they were abuzz around them.

Clatter of plastic trays against tables and someone a few tables over laughing all too hard at a probably not near as funny joke they heard brought Ryan back to her empty table. She took a swing from the can of raspberry iced tea she stole from her mother’s hoard and pulled her pen case from her hoodie’s pocket. The [black journal](http://glowstickia.tumblr.com/post/142110025007/amandaonwriting-writing-prompt-write-about) hiding underneath her lunch bag was dragged out and flipped open. She only had the thing for a month and it was already half full of her scribbled writing. She uncapped her pen and began to write.

_Head ached. Breathing shallow, short. Heartbeat pumping faster with each passing second. 1,2,3 skip 1,2,3. Counting was of no help. His thumbs kept in time with his heart even as he held his hands over his head. Don’t think don’t think don’t think. But the words rushed into his head. “You’ll never amount to anything.”_

_“I hate you.”_

_“You can be a jerk sometimes.”_

_“You’ll never finish the assignment.”_

_The words piled in his head, all whispering taunts and lies… Lies he thought were true. Adrenaline flowing through his bloodstream, his heart quickened. He shook and fell to the floor. No one care. No one cared about him anymore._

Trays clattered as students voices echoes grew distant. Ryan looked around her with widened eyes. She packed her things and shoved her pen case into her hoodie pocket before chugging the rest of her iced tea and shoved the remains of her fruit snacks into her mouth as she ran after her classmates. She really needed to stop writing during school hours.

* * *

_A few bells later…_

Ryan sat at her desk, feet crossed, staring at her teacher drawing more stick figures on the board. She chewed on her lower lip, silently telling her bladder to stay strong, stay strong for Joan d’Arc. She swallowed, watching Ms. P walk back and forth in front of the chalkboard talking about what a huge asshole Henry VIII was to his many, many wives. Out of the six, he divorced two, executed two more, another died, and one actually surpassed him. Katherine Parr whom married in secret to another while Henry passed. The lucky one.

Ms. P tapped the chalk in her hand. “Now, I think it’s time for everyone to work in pairs.” Desk shifted as students chose their partners. Friends sat next to one another and started chatting. Ms. P cleared her throat. Ryan tapped her foot quietly. She was internally dying. Ms. P cleared her throat again and rolled her eyes. “If you won’t be quiet enough for me to finish speaking then I will pick out your partners myself.” The room immediately grew silent. Everyone knew Ms. P chose partners based on “random chance” which meant choosing from a rigged stack of notecards. Rumors floated around the school that Ms. P knew magic tricks and that she assigned partners based on a student shipping chart in the teacher lounge. Ms. P nodded. “Thought so… Now whenever you pair up, I have a few worksheet assignments that need to be done.”

As Ms. P continued to talk about homework, Ryan started to lose focus. Any other day she would be wondering who would be the last person to be saddled with her, but at that moment, she did not care. Her foot’s tapping pace quickened. She had to pee baaaaaaaad. Her lips thinned, waiting for the perfect moment for Ms. P to stop talking and hijack the hall pass hanging on the classroom door’s handle. The wooden sign was handpainted sloppily in red. “PASS” It read on one side. The other in sharpie read what it could be used for, like in her case, having a free key to run to the bathroom. She wasn’t going to sprint…she was going to fast walk.

A blonde boy wearing suspenders pulled his chair up next to her desk. Ryan briefly glanced at him. Alarm bells ringing in her head. The boy who’s name began with a T. Her knee started to shake. Yep, things kept getting worse. She had to pee and a classmate came to her willingly. Perfect. Just what she wanted right when she was probably going to be rude. She was fairly sure her face was flushed. She gripped the desk as Ms. P finally started to pass out the worksheet papers. Ms. P stopped suddenly at her desk, eyebrow raised as she handed Ryan and T(?) their papers. “Ms. Orson are you alright?”

“May I use the bathroom Ma’am?” Ryan asked quickly.

Ms. P blinked. “Yes you-” Ryan was out the door like a shot before Ms. P could finish her sentence. The pass on the door was missing. She stared at Ryan’s worksheet partner. “What did you do Mr. Gardner?”

He looked towards the door, then back at Ms. P and shrugged. “This time, nothing.” Ms. P clicked her tongue and continued to pass out the papers. Whether or not she was satisfied with his answer was debatable. He watched her slide pages two at a time. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do. Well, he technically could start on the assignment, but he really didn’t want to do the assignment…ever. His focus shifted to movement in his peripheral as the boy who regularly sat next to Ryan’s desk dragged something off of it. He stared at his classmate, both puzzled and suspicious. They locked eyes. His narrowed. “Jack what are you doing?” he mouthed.

Jack and his partner snickered as Jack waved the black notebook he pulled off of Ryan’s desk. “She’s got secrets Tristan.” He winked.

Tristan’s eyes shifted to the door then back at Jack. “Put it back.” But Jack already had the journal opened and was flipping through it. Tristan gritted his teeth, silently wishing he had his lantern on him. Then Jack fell. Half the class jumped. Tristan was to his feet, but Ms. P was the first to Jack’s side.

His breathing was shallow. He was shaking. Ryan’s journal was on the floor beside him, forgotten by the forming crowd Ms. P kept shouting to move away and to get the school nurse. Moments later Ryan returned with the pass dangling around her neck with the school nurse and another student in tow. She moved to the side and let both pass. Tristan’s eyes locked with hers and before she could escape again he was next to her as everyone else’s attention was on Jack.

Ryan stared past him. “What-” Tristan handed her her journal. “-happened.” She blinked as though she was attempting to fight through her mind buffer.

“He took this off your desk.” Tristan watched as though a light bulb flickered on above her head. Her cheeks began to turn red.

“He…didn’t read anything, did he?” Her eyes searched his face then over to where the students were dispersing. Tristan looked behind him and shifted to her side as the school nurse and a couple of students walked Jack back to the nurse’s office. His face seemed drained of all color and was still shaking. “He did…” Her voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper, but Tristan heard it.

“He just fell all of a sudden.” Tristan shrugged as Ms. P tried to bring order back to her classroom. “No one knows what happened.”

“No one was supposed to read it…” Her voice still straining to hear if one wasn’t listening for it. Tristan grabbed her wrist beside him and squeezed. His eyes still staring at his classmates. “No one was supposed to read it…”


	4. Brenda Burn's Burgers and Shakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Milkshakes are a lonely girl's best friend. So is the guy behind the counter. And maybe the two people tailing her.

His eyes were still watching. Ryan continued to sip her milkshake, staring at the hussle and bussle of workers behind the counter. For once she had enough money for a large. Phone had left a couple of mole presents on their doorstep and her mother refused to touch or look at dead things. She was able to make a hefty $5 for Phone’s present removal after coercing her mom that it would sit there and be dead until maggots decomposed it. Ryan grinned and took another satisfying gulp; orange with a hint of mint. She hoped Phone would leave other dead presents on their doorstep again soon so she could reap the rewards and be bemused by her lawyer mother’s phobia.

She snorted thinking about it. Her mother was fine with dead bodies in horror movies and the crime shows she’d throw popcorn at telling the characters on the screen how little some evidence would hold water. Ryan’s eyes lowered to the paper place mat under her milkshake. The weight of the old necklace case in her hoodie’s pocket seemed heavier than normal. She shook her head, forcing her hands to stay on the cold glass. She hadn’t written in months. She couldn’t, not with that pen. Her fingers tightened and screamed at her to let go. The cold bothered her, sent chills through her hands and goosebumps on her covered arms.

Tristan, the guy she swore to actually remember his name, told her it wasn’t her fault. He didn’t understand though… it was her fault. She wrote the words with that pen. If she hadn’t… She frowned, chewing thoughtfully on her straw. If she hadn’t then Jack probably would’ve still stolen her journal or something more valuable. She did like how he decided to switch seats with someone less obnoxious. She attempted to sip her milkshake, but found the straw to not pull as much dairy goodness as she wanted. The spoon they gave her was in her hand seconds later as she dug for more milkshake.

A crash of silverware shook the diner into silence. Ryan turned behind her, catching a glance of Tristan and his red-haired friend quickly acting nonchalant in a booth near the back. The waiter was on his knees, picking up dirty silverware from tables he was busing. Another from behind the counter quickly walked to his rescue and helped him pick up the rest. Ryan slowly swiveled back towards the kitchen. Why were they following her? She scooped another spoonful of milkshake as her other hand brushed against the soft case in her pocket. …It was for a good cause. She opened the case and pulled out the old fountain pen. She flipped the place mat, finished the rest of her milkshake and scribbled onto the paper with her pen.

_Stop following Ryan._

Ryan slipped off of her stool, slid her pen back into it’s case, and paid for her milkshake at the register. $3.50. She internally screamed as the cashier put change in her hand. “Thanks, John.” She slowly walked out of the diner, mentally hoping the two would look at the paper.

* * *

Tristan frowned as his partner in crime towered her hands. “What, Jess?”

“So, you’ve been following her around for a while.” Jess stirred her milkshake and gave him a sly grin. “You know her regular…haunts.”

“Jess.”

“That’s kinda creepy you know.”

Tristan put his face in his hands, inhaled and glared at her. “Jess focus.”

She drank more of her strawberry milkshake. “I am focused Trist. Focused on how creepy you’re being.” She raised her glass, took a sip straight from the cup, and slammed it on the table. “This is an intervention.”

Tristan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, an intervention to stop a new spectral’s powers from going haywire.”

Jess puffed her cheeks. “Well, you don’t have to be so creepy about it.”

“I’m not being creepy.”

It was Jess’ turn to roll her eyes. “Not being creepy are you serious? Do I need to make a list?” She held out her hand. “Gimme your pencil. I need to add to the list I literally have in my back pocket.”

Tristan sank into his seat, his eyes shifting to the purple sweatshirt clad girl at the diner’s counter. The older man with wispy navy colored smoke for legs sitting next to her was still eating his eggs. No one ever sat in that man’s chair, not since his accident a couple years ago. Tristan huffed. He was hoping she’d have seen the ghost by now.

“Tristaaaaaan.” He blinked and turned his attention back to Jess. If she could curl her lips like a cat, she’d have made that face. “You’re staaaring again.” She leaned forward. “If you don’t go over there and talk with her, I will drag you over there myself.”

“Jess.”

“Though it’d probably be easier to drag her over here.” She slammed her fists on the table, nearly knocking over the remains of her milkshake in the process. “I’m gonna drag her over here and we’ll talk spec talk.”

“Jess. Jess no.”

She was about to stand up and shout “Jess YES” when a man carrying silverware in a tub stumbled and dropped half of its contents. Everyone in the diner turned towards the sound. Tristan was the first to notice Ryan spinning around in her chair. He pushed Jess farther in the booth and stared at the placemat on the table, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

Tristan glanced up to where Ryan was sitting. She swiveled back towards the kitchen. His heart was pounding in his chest. She saw them. She saw them and knew they were there watching her. Ryan pulled something out of her sweatshirt pocket. He arched his neck, attempting to get a better look. She glanced back again, startling him, and rose from her seat. After paying for her milkshake and leaving the diner, Tristan quickly rushed to her seat, and found her note.

Jess rolled her eyes and dragged her feet to where Tristan stood, half ignoring the wispy ghost man, munching on an see-through plate of fries. “Trist, will you give it a rest?”

He turned to her frowning, as if he was trying to clear his thoughts, but couldn’t blow away the fog in his head. “Maybe we should…stop following Ryan.”

“It’s about time!” Jess swept her arms in the air, nearly smacking the ghost and Tristan in the face. She bounced and nearly ran out the door, “LAST ONE TO-”

“Miss, you still need to pay for your milkshake.” The cashier, still John, called out. His fingers rhythmically tapping the counter in time with the sizzling burgers.

Jess turned, her back pressing against the door and opened it. “Leave it on Lucinda’s tab.” She grinned before spinning and backing out the door.

Cashier John sighed, turning to Tristan. “Like I was gonna tell your friend before she exited stage left, Lucinda doesn’t have a tab here anymore.”

Tristan blinked and shook his head. “I-er yeah…” He internally groaned and fished out his wallet. “I guess I’ll pay…again.”

John pressed a couple buttons and rung him up. “That’ll be $4.” Tristan reluctantly handed over the bills and completed the transaction. John leaned on the counter near the register, he didn’t want to be yelled at by the owner again, and tugged at his ketchup stained apron. “You know Lucinda pulled her tab cause your friend kept coming in every day for ‘free food’ right?”

Tristan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, that explains why I’m never paid enough.”

John looked behind him, then back at Tristan. He leaned forward. “So, what’s with you following Rye Bread?”

“Rye?”

John hit his forehead. “Right sorry, she hates being called that. I mean Ryan Orson. What’s her to you?” He grinned. “I know my regulars. She ain’t your type dude.” His gaze shifted to the door then back to Tristan. “Though, I could be completely wrong.”

The ghost snorted. “Stop loafing around kid. Talk to her before you both wind up bread.” Tristan did his best to ignore him while the ghost shook, trying to contain his laughter. Tristan shook his head, not answering John’s subtle question. The ghost coughed and leaned back on his stool, gripping the counter so he wouldn’t fall. “Oh oh, the yeast you could do is RISE to the occasion.” The door closed with the ghost kicking what was left of his legs and pounding his fist on the counter.

Tristan will give the ghost some credit though, maybe it was high time he talked with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're diggin in deep! >:3c  
> Who are Jess & Tristan? Why are there ghosts chilling in diners? Will Ryan keep drinking milkshakes? Check out the update next week to find out.


	5. Next to Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take a look at the Invisible Girl. Here she is, clear as the day. Please look closely and find her before she fades away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I got a house and being responsible and junk I missed last week's update. Here's the next chapter a little early this time. Hope you all have a lovely week!

Ryan yawned and rubbed her eyes as she dragged her feet into the kitchen. The cat running around and through her legs meowing at her rushed to the empty food bowl near the back door. Ryan grumbled under her breath as she pulled out the container of healthy weight cat food and a small bag of Friskies from a lower cabinet. Phone purred and kneaded Ryan’s owl printed pajama bottoms, lightly digging her claws into Ryan’s skin.

“Phone, not right now.” Ryan shoved the suddenly affectionate cat as she poured food into the dish. Phone headbutted her leg and nipped her foot. Ryan jumped. A few kibbles fell to the ground. Phone ran after them. “OW STOP THAT GEEZ.” She slid the bowl to its usual spot and Phone stuck her face into it, eating quickly. Ryan shook her head and put the food bags away. She yawned again and checked the clock on the stove. 6am...on a Saturday. She stared at the cat at her feet. “Why must you maintain a routine when I could be sleeping in.”

Phone chirped a response and ate more from her bowl. Ryan shuffled across the floor to the fridge, rubbing her eyes along the way. She spotted the white paper slapped onto the stainless steel fridge with an open black umbrella. Rain drops and music notes fell underneath the umbrella magnet. Ryan  [ hummed a tune ](https://youtu.be/w40ushYAaYA?t=50s) , pulled the paper free, and scanned the page.

_ Ryan, _

_ I will be out of town for the rest of the week. Double homicide with at least 5 witnesses. You know how it is. Don’t forget the Skype call tonight at 7. Tell your father I won’t be available until next time. _

_ Roast in the pot. Love you! _

_ Mom _

Ryan crumpled the hastily written note and tossed it in the trashcan. She looked down at Phone as she rubbed her face against Ryan’s leg, purring. “Good thing I’ve got you at least.” Phone chirped. “You’d think Mom would be less vague huh?” Phone flopped on her back and rolled. “No Phone, I’m not giving you belly rubs. We both know it’s a hand death trap.” Phone stared up at her and tilted her head while her paws rested on her chest. Ryan rolled her eyes. “I’m going back to bed.” Phone rolled back onto her paws and followed Ryan up to her room.

Phone hopped onto Ryan’s bed and knead the covers. Ryan stared at her cat as Phone sat, content, then promptly fell asleep on the nest of sheets and blankets. Ryan sighed. “Welp, can’t go back to bed now that you’ve claimed it.” Phone purred in her sleep. “Don’t rub it in.”

Ryan ran her fingers through her messy hair. She was home alone again...for a questionable length of time. She sat at her desk, pulled her backpack to her feet, and turned on a light. Papers, spiral-bound notebooks, folders, and a couple textbooks spilled out as she unzipped the mouth of her backpack.  [ She hummed to herself ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tl1MgplUBuo) , pulling out the hefty History textbook. She grabbed her notebook and folder before kicking the backpack over. Her eyes scanned her desk as her fingers tapped against the textbook. Pencils...pencils… She stared at Phone, still asleep on her bed. She was loafing. “Phone, did you steal my pencils  _ again _ ?” Phone opened her eye and then closed it. Ryan groaned. “You need to stop doing that. I need those...klepto cat.”

She scooted her chair back, sat on her haunches, and peeked under her bed. Ryan squinted before pulling the metallic blue flashlight off her nightstand, turned it on and scanned under her bed. Broken hair ties with forming dust bunnies of hair and gross things hung around the edge of the wall and bed. She grimaced and focused her flashlight on something else. A clear plastic bin full of shoes she hadn’t worn in forever, a lost sock, one of Phone’s mouse toys… Ryan frowned. A sparkling green mechanical pencil rested in front of an old necklace case. Her mouth was dry, but she managed a dry swallow before reaching out and grabbing both the pencil and the case.

Ryan sat on her knees, staring at the necklace case. She swore she left it on her desk earlier that week. She looked up at Phone, who had shifted in her sleep and was sleeping on her back. Maybe Phone knocked it off her desk again. She liked to paw at things until they dropped from high places. Things always got in her way of her perching, at least that’s what Ryan got from when Phone had managed to shove her desk lamp onto her bed so she could look out the blinds.

The necklace case sat on the open textbook. Ryan chewed the insides of her cheeks, debating on what the best course of action she should take. It was just an old fountain pen, that’s all it was, an antique she bought for a dollar from the previous owner. There was nothing wrong with the pen… Ryan consciously moved her hands away from the case. Magic was only in the books she read. Fate, destiny, what have you, was only in fairy tales, epics, and other genres Ryan couldn’t think of at the moment. But she couldn’t shake the feeling, there was something more to the pen. Her eyebrows scrunched together as her lips thinned, processing the events since purchasing it.

The phone call. Ms. P read something Ryan wrote, claiming that everything felt  _ real _ . Jack stole her journal, the one she only used that pen in, collapsed on the floor after reading something in it. Tristan stopped following her after she left that note at the diner… 

Ryan needed to test something, a hypothesis that itched her curiosity. Reluctantly, Ryan opened the necklace case. The fountain pen rested against the soft, torn fabric. A few drops of ink had spilled onto the fabric, staining the cream color with an ever growing puddle of navy. She flipped open her notebook to a blank page in the back, and gently picked up the pen. After a couple of slow breathing exercises, she began to write. She didn’t stop, until Phone rubbed against her leg. 3 full pages, covered front and back were written in almost cursive writing. Almost. Her cursive was never legible, but the writing on the page was elegant, precise, and easy on the eyes. She scanned the page, until she stopped on a word.

Inkwell.

It was capitalized. A name. Ryan glared at it. The name seemed familiar to her. She went back to the beginning. The story was about a being named Inkwell, murdered by a witch who cursed him to be bound by a fountain pen. It continued, referring to the time it spent, gathering dust in the witch’s shop until a young teenage girl picked it up. Ryan’s eyes widened as she nearly fell out of her chair.

_I need your help Ryan._  

“Nope, nope, nope, I didn’t sign up to be a magical girl no.” She scrambled to the other side of the room and sat against her door, staring at her desk. “Not, happening.”

Phone stretched, and sauntered over to Ryan. Phone’s tail twitched as her bright green eyes stared into Ryan’s. Ryan half expected Phone to start speaking English, but instead she cried. “Murrph”.

Ryan’s shoulders relaxed. “You’re right, I’m just overreacting.” Phone headbutted her knee and flicked her tail against Ryan’s hand. Ryan tilted her head back, against the door and closed her eyes. “Just, breathe.” She reminded herself. Phone’s tail stopped thumping against her hand. Ryan opened her eyes. A see-through, purple shaped bird hung upside down on the ceiling. She jumped back, hitting her head on the door. She rubbed her head, groaning a little as a throbbing pain bloomed from her skull hitting wood. Her eyes searched the ceiling again.

...It was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics in the summary are from the song Superboy and the Invisible Girl from the musical Next to Normal, in case you missed one of the links.


	6. Into the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Into the woods, it's time and so I must begin my journey.
> 
> No one is following anyone. Not into these woods. There isn't a sleep dealing shapeshifter. Nah. Just a simple walk into the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...So I missed the date again because Istg the days at work blur together. ANYWHO, here ya go~

The trees’ shadows shifted as the breeze shook the leaves and branches. Ryan placed her hand on the bumps and grooves of the black cherry's bark. It reminded her of burned popcorn. Her eyes shifted to the natural tunnel the overarching branches gave. It was like she was entering another world. Her fingertips gripped the bark as her bruised, tired eyes attempted to focus on the shadows beyond the purple, see-through creatures. If she didn't look at them, they'd go away, just like yesterday.

Her stomach churned as a jellyfish like creature swam past her. Another creature, a large dragonfly with wings of a bat, glided through the trees above. Ryan closed her eyes, rubbed them with the heel of her hand. They, whatever they were, weren’t going away. How could she make them go away? Why was this happening? Her eyes slowly opened and blinked.

She was alone.

A sigh escaped her lips from breath she had held for far too long. She almost choked. Her eyes scanned the twig studded and dead leaf blanketed path. Seeing a lack of whatever the purple things were called, she continued down the path. As she placed her guard up, a twig snapped a few feet behind her. She jumped and twirled on her feet. “Who’s there?” She snapped. Before she even registered the pen in her hand, Tristan stumbled out from behind the trees. Her eyes narrowed. “YOU!”

Tristan stared at her for a brief moment before something clicked. “YOU!”

“What are you doing out here? Why are you following me?” She pointed her pen at him, like it was a wand or a sword instead of something filled with ink.

He seemed just as confused as she was. “What are you doing in the woods?”   
  
Ryan shook her head. “No, no, I asked you first.”

“Well, not following you if that’s what you’re thinking.” The lantern in his hand swung. “You wouldn’t happen to have run into anyone else while out here...have you?”

The purple creatures came to mind. Ryan lowered her pen to her side. Her grip didn’t loosen. “...No, I haven’t.” She eyed him, wary and curious. "So if you're not following me, what ARE you doing out here?"

Tristan avoided her eyes by suddenly becoming fascinated by the greenery beside him. “That’s sorta classified.”

“Uh huh,” she crossed her arms over her chest, “suuuure it is. And what would reach classified status? Not telling someone you’re stalking them or-”

“I am  _ not _ following you.”

“Then why won’t you tell me your classified secrets?” She leaned against the tree beside her, smirking at him. “What are you? Some sorta FBI agent chasing down aliens with your skeptic partner?"

Tristan appeared visibly offended. “How do you know I’m not the skeptic partner?”

“So you admit you’re with the government.” Ryan shot back.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. “Look.” He opened his eyes and into hers. She noticed the skin under his eyes were slightly purpled. He could probably use a nap. “It’s not safe to be in this forest right now, so I suggest you just go...home or something. I don’t care.” She opened her mouth to retaliate, but the glare kept her words from leaving her lips. He turned, holding his lantern in front of him. “See you in class.”

Tristan disappeared as he walked through the thick growth of the forest. Ryan puffed her cheeks. She was  _ not _ going home. No one but her cat and mom...and the high school teachers...and most adults...could tell her what to do. Shoving her fountain pen back in her hoodie’s pouch, she followed Tristan through bushes, tree limbs, and fallen leaves. The purple floating creatures came and went, whispering to each other as she slid across a toppled, dead tree. She paid them no mind as her feet crunched leaves and snapped the occasional twig. Tristan didn’t appear to be aware of her presence as he walked deeper into the forest.

Branches pulled at her sleeves and loose leaves decorated her hair as she followed. Questions raced through her head as she attempted to keep up with her classmate. A couple of times his lantern glowed and flickered like a candle. Eerie. He hadn’t touched any switches or lit it. The lantern just came to life and died on its own accord, as though it had a mind of its own. Ryan wanted to scoff the ridiculous thoughts away, but… She dropped down behind a bush and held her breath as Tristan turned in her direction.

“There you are.”

That… That wasn’t Tristan’s voice.

Ryan leaned to the side of the bush. A red-haired girl jogged up to Tristan from behind. The girl from the diner...

“Found the spirit yet?” She asked, swinging the old cane she carried and lightly tapped his shoulder with it.

Tristan frowned before looking at her. “No, Jess, I haven’t, but it has to be in here somewhere.” He brushed the cane off his shoulder with his free hand. “I’m guessing you hadn’t found it either.”

“Huh? Oh uh,” she scratched the back of her neck, “I got lost-”

“That’s what you get for running ahead of me.”

“And I stumbled over a sleeping raccoon.”

Tristan held up his hands, and lantern. “Wait, you found a-”

“I thought it was dead, but it wasn’t. I’ll probably need a flea bath after this, but I found a raccoon, a deer, three opossums, a-”

He grabbed her cane before she could smack it with him again. “So you found a trail of clues.”

She beamed. “Not only that, but I found it! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand then lost it.”

Tristan released the cane and rubbed his hand over his face. “Did you see where it went?”

“Why do you think I ran this way?”

“Because you have the self control of a toddler sometimes?”

Jess didn’t appear amused. “While I’m sure my parents and Lucinda would agree with you, no. I was on its trail, but it disappeared somewhere around here.”

Ryan frowned and retreated back behind the safety of the thick bush. Maybe she was right about them, but since when did the government hire teenagers? What YA novel did she stumble into? And what did “Jess” mean by spirits? Sleeping animals? Ryan rubbed her temples. Too much to take in at once.

She stared at the leaves before her. The hair on her arms and back of her neck raised as a chill ran down her spine. Someone… Some _ thing _ was watching her. She slowly turned on her toes, still crouched all the while somehow keeping her wobbling balance. Ryan half expected to see a small grey creature with a large bulbous head and empty black eyes, but the failed attempt at a sandcastle behind her was not “The Grey”. The purple sand glimmered in the beams of light filtered through the trees leaves. Sand grains flowed on the mound like water off a cliff as it seemed to sink further on the ground. It was pancake shaped before she started slowly inching back.

“Find it yet?” Jess called out. Leaves rustled and crunched as she bulldozed through the forest, unaware of Ryan or her discovery.

“No, I haven’t and I doubt we’ll even find it here.”

“Not with that attitude we won’t.”

Tristan groaned. “Jess, are you sure you followed it here? It’s probably gone now and putting someone else to sleep.” The amount of done in his tone made Ryan almost pity him. Almost.

The purple sand raised itself to a mound again, as if offended by Tristan’s words. It turned and looked at her. It had  _ eyes _ . Its  dark white light grey eyes stared into hers as if daring her to make a sound. Ryan managed a dry swallow. The thing they were looking for, the thing that put animals and people to sleep, had its eyes locked on her. Was the sleep permanent? How did it knock things out? Losing against it in a staring contest? Touch? She stayed, rooted in her spot, watching the sand pile as it shifted towards the bushes, still staring deep into her eyes.

A warning.

The bushes consumed the sand pile as it continued to stare her down, as if daring her to follow it. Moments later the earth shook. Jess was shouting. “There it is!” A burst of fire flew over the bush, hit a tree, and fizzled out on impact. Ryan stared at the scorch mark and quickly scooted behind the safety of another tree.

Soon as she had moved a purple stag tromped through the bush. The stag stared at her with light grey eyes briefly before looking behind it. The sandpile had reshaped itself. The sand-stag bolted and hopped away. Jess and Tristan were in hot pursuit. Jess with a tight grip on her cane and Tristan holding his lantern out in front of him, as though to aim at the sand-creature.

They were gone.

Birds called to each other. Grasshoppers chirped. Cicadas screamed. The forest sounds returned to normal. Ryan ran her fingers through her hair, catching leaves and tossing them to the forest floor. She saw that right, right? The purple sand was sentient. It had eyes and could shapeshift. Her classmates...they’ve been tracking it down. Did the lantern Tristan have shoot fire? Or was she imagining things? Why did the earth shake when the cane Jess carried hit the ground? Questions buzzed in her head like a pesky mosquito. She smacked her leg.

Answers. She needed answers.

Ryan looked down at her hand and stuck out her tongue before wiping it on her hoodie. And bug spray. She needed bug spray. She inhaled and released her breath before attempting to stand. Everything felt...shaky. It wasn’t the earth this time. Her hands grasped the tree for support. She pulled herself closer and rested her head against it. Deep breaths. Just breathe.

Jess called it a spirit. The sandpile was purple… and a little see-through, just like the creatures she had been seeing the past few days. Her stomach churned.

They know what’s going on.

They’re  _ part _ of what’s going on.

She sank to her knees and leaned against the tree. The fountain pen in her hoodie’s pocket poked her stomach. She had shoved it in there to free up her hands. It was surprising it hadn’t fallen out. She pulled it out and scanned it. This pen, everything started with this pen. All the things she wrote… the consequences of writing with it were coming back to haunt her. She swallowed, feeling queasier by the minute. Things didn’t add up. It had to be coincidence. It had to be…

But, what could she do? No one would believe her, except, maybe Tristan and his friend. But what if they were from the government like she accused? They had chased after the sand-creature… and Tristan did stalk her for a while. Her grip on the pen tightened. Who could she-.

"Inkwell," his name rolled out of her mouth, "what should I do?" She asked before she could stop herself.

The world shifted around her. The trees were replaced with paper covered in lines of scribbles....words. Puddles of ink covered the ground of paper leaves. Each leaf had something written on them ranging from a phrase to quotes. Her eyes trailed the puddles across the ground until the dripping source stared at her.

[ Its body was cloaked with running ink ](http://lazylazuli.tumblr.com/post/142117235350/takes-deep-breath-if-if-you-could-draw-my) as her eyes followed up until she hit it's face. Its head was shaped like a bird's, but the beak was similar to the nib of her fountain pen. Ink pooled at the base of its mouth until they opened. "Afternoon Ryan. It's nice to finally meet you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will have to say, hands down, this is still my favorite chapter cause GOOOOOSH. The nerds are interactiiiiiiiiiing. Things are coming together >:3c Also still very proud of the last few paragraphs there. And yes, another musical reference (it's Ryan). Watch Into the Woods, its ridiculously fantastic.


	7. Extra Senses and Perception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mindscapes, sand escapes, and a new team is formed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to mention that this chapter and Into the Woods (ch6) takes place a week after Next to Normal (ch5).

Inkwell’s beak snapped shut. Ink dripped from his mouth. His blank eyes stared at Ryan, awaiting a response. Ryan slowly stood. She held the pen in her hand, his pen, her tool, and gestured to the room around them.

“So, where are we?” She asked.

Inkwell spread his wings. Ink splattered to the ground. “This is my domain.”

Ryan gave a blank stare. “Okay, I gathered as much, but  _ where _ are we?”

Inkwell coughed and immediately brought his wings back to his side. “I am bound to the pen in your possession. As long as you hold that pen, we are connected.”

Ryan glanced at the fountain pen, then back at Inkwell. “So, if I drop this, then we’re through-yeah?”

Words around them became illegible scribbles as they warped shape. Alarm bells rang in Inkwell’s head. “Do. Not. Drop. It.” He couldn’t do this. Not again.

She twirled the pen and put it in her hoodie’s pouch. “Rodger Dodger.”

Inkwell sighed. “I know this is a lot to take in and I am positive you are bubbling with questions.”

“Speaking of questions,” she waved her arm up and down in front of her, “what are you?” Her thumb began massaging her temple. “What are those purple  _ things _ I keep seeing? Who are-”

“Before you start having a meltdown: I am a spirit. The purple creatures you are seeing are shades. They are akin to me, also spirits, but the beginning stages before you see the full spectrum of colors.”

Ryan’s eyes slowly widened. “...I’m just like Cole Sear then.  [ Oh my god, I see dead people. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QUYKSWQmkrg) ”

Inkwell blinked. A reference and genre savvy teen. Oh boy. “Ghosts are different than spirits-” she opened her mouth, “-And yes, you can now see both.”

She licked her lips. “You mentioned being bound to the-” she patted her pouch, “fountain pen. Are you, like a-uh genie?”

He shook his head. Ink splattered the floor. “I do not grant wishes if that is what you mean. Otherwise, some similarities yes. As you have read, I was murdered-”

“By the witch,” Ryan chimed in.

“Yes,” he clasped his wings together, “to keep myself from fading away completely, I found and bound myself to your pen. Spirits on their last legs can bind their remaining energy into objects. In order to regain our strength, we pull humans with similar energy to us, and turn their energy into our own.”

Ryan frowned. “So, you’re saying you’re feeding off of my energy, aka the stuff you’re made up of?”

He shrugged. “To put bluntly, yes. Though, humans, like yourself, naturally produce a great quantity of this energy. Most are unable to even see this range of energy.”

“Then, why am I able to see it now? Is it because you’ve been feeding and I’ve been writing with your special prison pen?”

“You have had a high concentration of being exposed to spirits.” He tapped his beak chin thoughtfully, “That or ingesting lots of citrus.”

Ryan paled. “I knew those orange milkshakes would come back to haunt me…”

“Ryan.”

“Hmmm?”

“It is not the milkshakes.”

She sighed in relief. “Good, I was worried.”

“You can already see spirits. Consuming citrus is a moot point by now.” Inkwell looked past Ryan. Words and paper were warping and wrapping into a four-legged creature behind her. “Ryan, you need to leave this forest,  _ now. _ ”

She tilted her head. “Wha-why?”

“You are in danger.” He said, just as the ink and paper around her shifted.

She blinked. Greens, browns, and blues were the first to welcome her back. The cracking of twigs and stomping behind her were second. Her feet started moving before coming up with a third thing to join the welcoming committee. She didn’t dare look back.

* * *

 

The sand creature had long since shifted from its deer form. Jess weaved through the forest, dodging branches and bushes as she sprinted. She smacked anything else out of the way with her cane. It was running too close to town. She gritted her teeth. The sandcoon hopped through the trees above. It’s light gray energy left behind a trail of wisps and grains of sand.

Jess eyes darted to her right as fire shot up, and hit, the spirit mid-air. “Lucky shot!” she called out as she sprinted to where the spirit fell. Her eyes widened and her pace quickened as a wispy human figure stood.

The spirit was on its last legs.

It flew off towards town.

A second set of footsteps came closer. She didn’t have to look to know Tristan was by her side. His lantern swung wildly in his hand. Its fire was out.

“This is bad.”

“No duh! Did you really have to shoot it?”

“I didn’t think it’d be a one-shot K.O.”

“And I didn’t think we’d be chasing a speedy sleeper spirit on a SATURDAY!”

The duo felt the concrete before they registered they were out of the forest. The spirit took a sharp right, towards the local diner on Cherry Street. Jess and Tristan fumbled into each other before sprinting after it.

The spirit didn’t go too far to tool. Which would’ve been fine, they’ve taken tooled items to Lucinda for years now. They’ve had to ‘borrow’ a couple of...hard to replace items before. It wasn’t stealing per se, and no one ever caught them taking that duck statue from the garden center. Nor the copious amount of chalk that went missing from the math department. Mr. Atticus was always dropping chalk anyways. It was a bad habit.

What they didn’t plan for was the girl about to walk into the diner to intervene between the spirit and the shovel leaning against the wall.

Jess and Tristan just about tripped over themselves trying to stop. She stared at them, eyebrow raised.

“I win!” Jess shouted, pumping her arms in the air.

The girl adjusted her square frames before walking into Brenda’s Diner. Tristan watched her before turning to Jess.

“We’re dead.”

Jess lowered her arms. She swung her cane and tapped her shoulder. “I can see the headlines for Sunday’s paper: ‘Two Idiot Teens Murdered by Local Antique Owner’,” she twirled the cane in her hand like a baton before smacking it on her open palm, “Which is why we should run and tell her  _ now _ before this blows up in our faces later.”

“Agreed.”

They stood on the sidewalk side-eyeing each other, waiting for the other to move. A light breeze picked up a dead leaf and carried it away.

“So…”

“So.” Tristan switched the lantern to his other hand. “Last one to Lucinda’s has to tell her about the medium we created.”

Jess was already running.

* * *

 

Ryan didn’t dare look back until she saw the light of civilization. The crunch and snap of twigs were replaced with smacks of feet hitting pavement. She turned towards the forest, her breathing heavy. Her signature purple sweatshirt clung to her arms. With no immediate threat breaching the forest line, she pulled the sweatshirt off and quickly tugged at her  [ t-shirt ](https://www.thuglifeshirts.com/products/sorry-i-cant) in attempts to air it out.

She knotted the sweatshirt sleeves above her hips. Something heavy in the sweatshirt hit the back of her legs. Her eyes widened, quickly undid her work and retrieved the fountain pen from the pouch. She stuck the pen in her front pocket with her house key and wallet before retying the sweatshirt. Satisfied, she walked through the parking lot of her favorite diner and onto Cherry Street.

At first her eyes didn’t notice the minor changes, well, not until she tripped on a sleeping hamster (?). And tumbled into someone. They both fell to the ground. She sat up. “Oh sh-I’m so sorry.” The girl adjusted her square frames back in place. “Are you okay?”

Glasses girl looked annoyed and probably mad. Her face was dusted with a light shade of pink. She clicked her phone shut and held out a hand. Ryan took it. They helped each other up. Once standing Glasses took out her phone. “Careful where you’re walking or you’ll trip over air again.”

Ryan glanced down to where she tripped. A small hamster with tiny orange bat wings rubbed its head with its tiny arms. The creature, no, spirit, seemed to emit a neon orange gas. She turned her attention back to Glasses. “Gravity works a little too well today,” Ryan forced a grin.

“Well,” Glasses shrugged, “bye.” She kept walking towards the diner.

“See ya ‘round!” Ryan waved, spun on her heels, and started speed walking away. There was a flash of light on her right.

Ryan walked faster.

Her eyes caught flashes of color from her peripheral.

She walked faster until she was running. She recognized the next building on her right.

The antique store.

Ryan ran into the door and tumbled forward. It was push. The bell chimed, signalling her presence.

The shopkeeper looked up from her magazine. She placed a large card between its pages. "Yes, may I help you?"

Ryan stared at her and straightened a bit. A light shade of blue curled off the woman’s shoulders. "Why are you leaking blue?"

"I wouldn't call it a leak, dear. That implies it's a liquid." The shopkeeper closed her magazine and hopped off of her stool. "Would you like some lemonade?”

Ryan eyebrows scrunched together. “Huh?”

“You seem out of breath,” the woman clarified, “Were you chased by something?"

As if by sheer coincidence two teens crashed through the door. The bell above jingled wildly. "LUCINDA WE HAVE A PROBLEM!" The duo shouted in unision.

Ryan and the two new comers stare at each other for a moment. Ryan raised her hand slowly while the other points at Tristan and Jess. "Yeah, them."

Almost by instinct, they both pointed back at her, immediately recognizing her. “YOU!” 

Tristan pulled his hand back and blinked. Dark purple energy rolled off Ryan’s shoulders. He dramatically pointed at her again. “I WAS RIGHT. I KNEW YOU WERE A SPECTRAL.”

Ryan’s eyes narrowed as she tilted her head back. “I’m a what?” Her gaze shifted to Jess. “Is he always like this?”

Jess nodded. “Like half the time.”

Lucinda waved her hand at the door. Jess scurried to the door and flipped the open card on the door to CLOSED as Lucinda slowly walked to Ryan's side. "Jess, Tristan, meet your new teammate."

The three teens stared at each other then to Lucinda. “What.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that wraps up the last of this arc! Next will be a bonus chapter past me thought future me would already have written by now...past me was wrong.


	8. Bonus Chapter: Inkwell and the Tarot Witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3 full pages, covered front and back were written in almost cursive writing. Almost. Her cursive was never legible, but the writing on the page was elegant, precise, and easy on the eyes. She scanned the page, until she stopped on a word.
> 
> Inkwell.

There once was a man with a marvelous gift. When he wrote, words came alive. They danced and twirled, enrapturing those who's curious eyes gave his work a second glance. He wrote of magic; of knights and wizards; of mystery and thieves; of pirates and love; of creatures oozing with gunk and slime. He wrote and wrote and wrote until ink stained his hands; until the pen filled the page; until the candle dripped out.   
  
As he continued to write, rumors murmured and jealousy ravaged in the hearts of his peers. He ignored the threats and the knives penetrating his door with notes stained in blood. He relished in the limelight, of the praise and wonders people told him. They loved his work. They wanted more, craved more. Reality, reality is a nasty place, but stories and books dragged them into places they never wanted to leave.

He never wanted to stop writing. His work, brought magic to the world... and yet.   
  
Magic was always there, hiding, waiting for the right person to find it, harvest it, use it. He found his magic in the words on the page, the ink staining his hands, the whispers echoing in his head.  _ Inkwell. _ The voices dipped and scratched on the page.  _ You must never stop. _   
  
And he never stopped, until...   
  
One day as he sat at his writing desk, musing about his next work, a knock came at the door. He rose only after finishing the paragraph and opened the door. A woman dressed in tattered cloak with eyes as deep as the ocean greeted him. Her hair, knotted, twisted, and black as coal was hidden underneath her hood. She spoke with vigor and stone. Her silver tongue offered him a deal. The voices told him to return to his desk.  _ Ignore her. _ They would cry. She's a witch!

He grinned at her. "Forgive me, but I must return to my work." He closed the door, but she was quicker.   
  
A single card slipped its way through the door. "Inkwell, if that is your true name,"  she said, her voice muffled by the door, "you mustn't show your hand."   
  
His gaze shifted to the card on the ground. It was brown with age, yet, the colors were vibrant.  **Judgement** in bold black lettering was written on the scroll near the bottom. An angel, blew on it's trumpet near the center of the card. Black eyes stared at him. A brass horn sounded behind him. He jumped. The door swung back open.   
  
The woman held two more cards in her hand; her eyes gleaming.   
  
"What do you want?" Panic overtook his voice. The others whispered in agreement.  _ What do you want? What do you want. Whatdoyouwant. _   
  
Her eyes showed no warmth. "Enough games, Inkwell," she said, flipping her cards towards him, "you know exactly what I want."   
  
The cards. He never saw the cards. He never remembered the cards. He never remembered his soul leaving his body, a sensation he only read about in the papers. Death. It may have been death, but.   
  
Inkwell was his name.   
  
His name was Inkwell.

The witch of tarots and cloaks took him with her. A simple fountain pen. Black like the ink that stained his veins. The need to write never vanished. The whispers only grew and crescendoed. He yelled. Screamed.   
  
But no one could hear him.   
  
No one bothered with a simple fountain pen.   
  
Dust covered him as time passed. People would ring the bell, and the witch would make small talk. Her cards never left her side. All ignored him. They always did. Their colors never matched. Crimson, teal, pink, turquoise, lime green. No one held the color of ink.   
  
Until one day, a young, teenage girl walked through the door. She ignored him at first, as others before her had. But she was, different. No color held her. She scanned price tags and hummed a tune he could not place. A lullaby, perhaps, one so old he had forgotten. The typewriter caught her eye. She lightly tapped her fingers against its keys. It held her attention more than anything else.   
  
He needed her.   
  
_ I need your help, Ryan. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe...took me over a year to finally get this bonus chapter written oh my god. I'm gonna fight past me one of these days. *spins in chair* WOO!!! Maybe one of these days I'll get back to writing my kids. Until then hope you enjoyed my parasona's first arc: Ryan & The Fountain Pen.


End file.
